A Bloody Reunion
by Pseudonymous Seuss
Summary: Sebastian has been mourning the death of his boss for nearly a year when he runs across the dead criminal... Who is very much alive. One-Shot PW ith implied, but not expanded on P - M for a reason, you know the drill. In the same head-canonverse of "Dynamics"and "The Mad Tea Party". Many thanks to LadyShipWreck, my Sebby!


The train ride should have gone faster. Or slower, Sebastian wasn't sure which. He wanted to get to Oxford, wanted to follow that throbbing tug of wire that always tied him to Jim, the one he had thought snapped by time and the grave. Apparently not. Apparently the pathological need to jump to his master's beck and call was so deeply ingrained that it could survive anything. And yet, Sebastian wanted more time to prepare. Weeks wouldn't have been enough time to prepare for something like _this_. Either too soon or too late, Sebastian was pounding on the door of Jim's current residence, a scowl on his face, a gun in a shoulder holster under the jacket of his pristine suit, and no idea how he got there.

"Coming." Jim sang out, the tone completely different from the one he had running through his head. He'd been drinking, but not enough to be off his game, only enough to smooth out the nerves he would admit to himself he had. He had an inkling of the three or four outcomes of the evening, but Seb had already exceeded his expectations. Just over a year after his little show and here the Tiger was banging down the door of his flat. He reached the entryway and paused, his hand suspended just over the knob. He took a deep, bracing breath before turning it and opening the door just the slightest crack. "And who is it?"

Oh, hell no, he wasn't playing any of Jim's fucking stupid games. The sniper was fed up with play-acting already. Sebastian slammed his forearm into the wood of the door, using the momentum to push it open regardless of the small Irishman standing behind it. He strode in, slamming the door behind him, and grabbed Jim's shoulders, shoving him up against the wall with a growl rumbling from the back of his throat.

"Rather nice to see you as well, Sebby. And how've we been?" Jim kept an even tone once he regained his breath, He could smell it, the rage. It came off of Sebastian in invisible, yet undeniably dark waves.

"Not faking my death, so that's probably a plus for me," he replied, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice, despite his attempt at a flip tone. He let go of Jim, turning away to stalk into the flat. He couldn't look at Jim, not at the moment. It was all too much, seeing him in the flesh, alive and well when he was supposed to be rotting in his grave. Sebastian felt the strange urge to tear his own eyes out, or cry, both of which were unacceptable. "Not enough security in here," he remarked instead, to keep his mind from the constant thrum of _JimJimherealiveJim_.

"Yes, well, tricky business it was. Lucky you for getting off easy there." He remarked, following Sebastian. It hadn't been long enough, that little moment of closeness; he needed to see his face. He needed to calculate his reactions, needed to watch his eyebrows arch and curve with his words. "And as far as security goes, I do just fine without all that extra. I run things much cleaner. Though," He paused, angling to face him, "I suppose I could use an excellent gun-man at my side now and again."

Over the past year, ever since Jim had put a gun in his mouth and 'died', Sebastian had learned to restrain himself, no matter the situation. Where before he could afford to let his temper run away with him, now he needed to be measured and careful in his responses. There was a split second where he considered holding on to that restraint. That evaporated. Instead, he pulled back his arm and punched Jim with every bit of his not-inconsiderable strength. "You _fuck_."

Jim saw colours he didn't remember existing. His cheekbone seemed to lodge itself backwards underneath his eye-socket and Jim, in the brief time between the action and reaction, considered exactly what that would do to his ocular nerve in coincidence with his... Ouch. Holyfuckingjesuschristouch. He stumbled back, his knees buckling when he connected with the coffee table behind him. He fell in double-time unable to stop himself as his body continued to react to the assault. Once he had stopped falling, for the most part, he let the bones of his face scrape around inside his cheek as he quipped, "Welcome back would have sufficed."

Sebastian felt a moment of regret when he saw just how badly he had managed to injure Jim. The punch had been all impulse and no thought, a year of grief and madness and the heavy weight of a crown he didn't want put into physical motion. Sebastian always _was_ better at the physical than the emotional. Still, despite his regret, he would go to his grave swearing that the hit had been entirely justified. He grabbed Jim by the front of the shirt, hauling the former brunet up and off the coffee table, face coming close to the genius's as he roared, "You don't fucking _deserve_ a welcome back. I should kill you myself for what you did."

Jim made a face, slowly adjusting to the sharp stabs each rearrangement brought on. "No, no, pleasure's all mine. Do sit, I'll set on the kettle." He'd never been one to choose his words safely and this was no exception. Sebastian was being unpredictable, and that was more interesting than any set of unbroken bones would ever be.

Sebastian kept his hold on Jim's collar, thumb swiping over the smaller man's windpipe before pressing down; it was not enough pressure to be uncomfortable, but enough to imply the threat of strangulation. And then he let go, all the anger tamped down to a slow boil instead of the raging inferno it had been, the sight of Jim's face and the still-new shock of him being _alive_ enough to slow Moran's rage. Though he stayed standing, he stepped away from Jim, leaning up against the nearest wall with his arms crossed.

Jim's mind whirred with each new action, more and more outcomes churning, rising, falling, dying. He found little of what he had expected lurking in Sebastian's eyes and it made him squint at the man. "Tea or coffee, Sebby? I'd assume but there's some sort of phrase fluttering around about that." He lifted the corner of his mouth, the slow burn of readjustment making his head go ever-so-slightly fuzzy.

"Coffee, black, one sugar. You know that." He let his arms fall to his sides, fingertips tapping out an unconscious beat against the wall. Another glance at the flat told him just how _very_ woeful the security was, and that made the back of his neck prickle, just like it always had when they moved to a new place and Seb hadn't gotten all his usual security measures up and running yet. It was disgusting, how easy he slipped back into his old routine, old habits, Jim fitting back into his life like a missing puzzle piece. But not _quite_ fitting. Sebastian had changed in the past year, reshaped his edges to fit the throne he had been given. As unreasonable as it was to expect Jim Moriarty to change, something had to give.

"Yes, well, you seemed a bit different, supposed things might have changed." Jim shrugged, turning his back on Seb (against his wishes _and_ better judgment) and heading into the kitchen to click on the pot he'd brewed that morning.

Just when he thought his anger had subsided, it flared right back up again. How _dare_ Jim treat the whole situation like nothing was wrong, like nothing had changed. Sebastian sprang forward with a roar, grabbing him and throwing him down onto the couch, following a moment later with a hand pressed to the man's chest to keep him down. He pulled his switchblade from the pocket of his trousers, flipping it open and pressing it against Jim's throat. "Things have changed," he said, voice thick with anger and with something else, something hard to name, something that had caused an ache in Sebastian's chest every day for the past year. "And you do _not_ get to pretend that they haven't."

"You oughtn't tell me what I can and can not do. It's entirely impolite. And in my own flat, no less." Jim said, feeling the knife against his throat, cold at first and then gradually warming to mimic his skin. He raised an eyebrow at Sebastian and tried to shift under his weight to no avail.

Sebastian's lips pressed into a thin line, cold grey eyes staring into Jim's dark ones with a healthy amount of contempt. There was really no good comeback to that, so he chose not to speak, letting actions be louder than words, as he was wont to do. He dragged the knife down from Jim's throat, pressure light over the skin so it only left a small scratch, before tilting it and yanking to cut open the man's shirt. Sebastian swung a leg up onto the couch, settling his weight over Jim's hips to keep him still, straddling the criminal in a way that had once been very familiar.

Jim let out a sigh. It was not the type of sigh that he had let cross his lips before at similar actions but a disappointed sigh that hollowed his chest. Here he'd thought there was to be some sort of real conflict or anything, _anything_ different than what he had come to expect. He rolled his eyes slightly, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Sebastian. So predictable." He clicked his tongue. "I'm disappointed."

The smile Sebastian flashed Jim was razor sharp and just as bright, though it never got anywhere near his eyes. "And here I thought you like me predictable," he murmured, turning his head down again to eye Jim's chest. He let his eyes sweep over the expanse of flesh, until he found the exact right portion, directly underneath Jim's collarbone. "Don't discount me yet." And with that, he drove the tip of the knife deep into the criminal's skin, dragging it carefully to create first an S, then, even slower and slightly deeper, an M.

Jim screeched. A small, irritating voice in the back of his mind chided him for the noise as he writhed beneath Sebastian, but Godfeckingdamnitbuggershit that was painful. In his pain his face contorted, reminding him that there were tiny little bone fragments swimming around in his skin there. Blood. Oh... blood. His right arm twitched at his side before clutching at Seb's leg with widened eyes. He could feel what was being carved into his skin and a tiny, unidentifiable ping ran through his head just underneath all the alarms being raised by the knife dragging through him. He took in several short breaths trying to gain some sort of control over his mouth. When his eyes stopped rolling back he cleared his throat. "Ouch." He said with an even tone and a high-arched eyebrow. The voice from earlier nodded its head to his return to the calm demeanor. _Well done, you._

There was nothing even toned about the laugh that escaped the sniper, bubbling over his lips and pouring out into the still air of the flat. He tossed the knife to the side, his hand sliding through the blood that covered Jim's chest and coming to rest as his throat, pushing down hard to keep the man in place. "Ouch, yeah," he said with a snort, leaning down close, so close, their lips almost touching. The screech still echoed in his head, and he felt a touch of pride that /he/ could make James Moriarty react like _that_. "You're mine too, Jim, you understand?" he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. And, fuck. All this time without Jim and the man's presence could still get him...excited. Unfuckingfair.

Jim breathed slowly through his nose his body sending all sorts of signals to his brain simultaneously. His cheek, his chest... lower regions... He cocked his head. "Are you suggesting that I'm to act a certain way because you wielded a knife?" He paused, making sure to smooth his tone before finishing. "Unlikely."

"No one could ever make you act _any_ way," he replied, a smirk crossing his face, just a brief flicker of a fond memory. "I gave up trying before I ever even started." Another smirk, and a roll of his hips, and he grabbed both of Jim's shoulders in tight grips, enough to leave bruises the next morning. "You still seemed to enjoy that, though."

Jim pursed his lips to keep from sighing, this time exactly as the many times before. He tilted his head back, feeling slightly dried blood pull and twist on his neck. "Looks can be deceiving." He said with an airy tone that suggested he'd rather be filing his nails or looking through the paper.

Sebastian picked Jim's shoulders up and slammed them into the couch, the snarl back on his face, but not in his voice. He affected the same airy tone as Jim had, all while wriggling his weight over the man again, just to be a tease. "Oh, so you wouldn't care if I got up and left right now?" he asked, eyebrows arched.

He gasped as the cuts on his chest widened at Seb's shove, biting his lip to keep from making any further noises. His hips, however, were not being restrained and rolled up to Sebastian's of their own accord. "But you've only just gotten here. I haven't even made it to the kitchen for our coffee, it'd be awfully rude of you to leave so soon."

"It would serve you right if I left forever." His voice was dark and low, filled with both the promise and the threat of everything he wanted to do to Jim. He wanted to rip the man from limb to limb, wanted to hold him for days to make sure he wouldn't go away again, wanted, wanted, _wanted_. The roll of Jim's hips brought another smirk, and a small groan. To stop himself from saying anything he would later regret (like mentioning that dreaded 'L' word) Sebastian moved his head and bit hard into the space between Jim's neck and his shoulder, his hands running down the criminal's chest, slipping just under the waistband of his trousers before resting there.

"But I've done enough of that for the... both of us, yes?" Jim breathed, his tone losing the evenness he'd been working so hard at. His eyes slid closed as Seb moved his hands over him, a feeling he'd been sorely lacking for quite some time. He moved a hand to the back of Seb's head, grasping the hair at the nape of his neck but letting him continue with his mouth against him.

Sebastian sucked hard at Jim's skin, leaving another, less permanent mark. He intended to mark Jim as much as possible that night, to replace bruises that had faded when Jim had gone up to St Bart's rooftop. Quickly unbuttoning the fly of Jim's trousers, he moved one hand downwards, squeezing him.

It had been too long. With the prospect of a new empire and schedules to keep, deadlines to make he'd let his _personal_ life go. After several disappointing attempts at something more adult with a few of his students and operatives he'd decided he could wait a bit until Sebby found him. The wait, he could already tell, had been well worth it. He pushed against Seb's hand with a bit more desperation than that little voice liked - _getting needy, Jimmy?_ - but he ignored it, his own hands reaching to the hem of Seb's shirt and tugging it from the suit pants. "Saville Row, impressive." he commented as he fiddled with the edge of the crisply ironed fabric, letting his fingers brush against the skin above his waistband.

"Learned how to dress from the very best," he said, wrapping his fingers around Jim and giving one stroke before he let his hand fall still again, the weight of his fingers settling against the younger man in a quiet reminder of what he could do, what he would do. The quirk at the corner of his lips turned cruel, even though they were pressed against Jim's skin where he couldn't see them. "And by that, I mean one of the instructors at Eton."

"Oh, we're touchy tonight." Jim said, dragging his nails over the man's skin as he sneered. "What's the matter, Tiger, rough day?"

"Oh, you could say that." Sebastian tried to keep his tone light and pleasant, but the end of the sentence twisted into a snarl, his eyes turning murderous once more as he pulled away a bit to stare down at Jim. He yanked the man's trousers off completely, bloody fingerprints marring the expensive fabric from the blood that had gotten onto his hands, then leaned in again to run his tongue over the newly hewn brand on Jim's chest.

Jim winced slightly at the nearly imperceptible ripping noise that accompanied his dis-robing. "Well you really ought not take it out on me." He mock-whined, his chest rising up to the wet heat of Seb's tongue. He ran his hand up one arm and dug his nails into a well-muscled shoulder, then over his collar and to the top button. He worked it free with little difficulty, despite the wetness of blood coating his fingers and moved swiftly downwards.

For a brief moment, Sebastian's chest stilled as his breath, until now fairly even, caught in his throat. Then there was a rush of air as his lungs filled again at the touch of Jim's fingers on his chest, the slick of the blood reminding him of other times, times when he didn't want to strangle the little fucking _bug_ beneath him. He leaned in again and bit hard at Jim's throat, a hand pressing down on his chest to keep him still, the other hand dropping down between his legs and forcing them open before, very unceremoniously, shoving two fingers inside of him.

Jim had been prepared to continue his snide remarks, opening his mouth to start another just as Seb caught him off guard. A deep, loud moan came from his already opened mouth and his eyes very briefly rolled backwards before snapping back to Seb's face. When he regained the ability to speak, Christ, the ability to _breath_, he raised an eyebrow at Sebastian, pulling his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms. "Have you decided, yet?" He whispered, not trusting his voice to keep from faltering.

"Decided /what/, arse?" He ground out, pulling from him and yanking the shirt off completely. He spit onto his hand then quickly returned it to Jim, wetting him just slightly before adding another of his long fingers, trusting that Jim would enjoy it despite the lack of attempt to be gentle. Or maybe he _wouldn't_ enjoy it, but hell if Sebastian cared. He wanted to pin the little Irishman down and take and take and _take_, as if that could make up for a year of loneliness, of empty mornings and of feeling the weight of the entire Firm on his shoulders.

"Are you going to kill a _dead_ man?" Jim said, turning his face slightly to hide his widened eyes. He could feel his blood rushing from one place to another, trying to tend to things but getting preoccupied with Sebastian's fingers and heading due south. "Wouldn't it be fun?" He closed his eyes and splayed the fingers of one hand across Seb's lower abdomen, just above his waistline.

"You know what I want to do?" He murmured, bringing his lips down against Jim's ear to brush right against the shell of it. "I want to rip your throat open with my _teeth_. I want to reach into your chest and claw out your fucking heart and put it on a spike. I want to topple your empire and watch your face as it burns to the fucking _ground_ and maybe then we'll be somewhere approaching even, yeah?" During the whole spite-filled speech, his fingers moved faster and faster, pushing into Jim with a punishing beat. He pulled out suddenly, grabbing the criminal's hips and dragging them up, lining himself up and staring down at Jim's face. "Miss me, _sweetheart_?"

Jim took in gasping breaths, every cell screaming in one way or another. He blinked rapidly before meeting Seb's gaze. "A little."

Sebastian leaned forward and bought his lips back to Jim's in a passionate kiss before pushing into Jim, moaning into his mouth.

Jim's eyebrows knitted together, his back arching against Seb's skin as his breath caught. He bit down hard on Sebastian's lower lip before pulling away to watch a trickle of blood slide down his chin. He widened his eyes before tipping his head back to bare his neck. "With your teeth, you said?" he goaded.

Sebastian huffed what might have been a laugh, licking at the blood that was flowing freely down his chin, catching on the stubble that was there from his missed shave. He pulled out and shoved back in again, starting up a beat just as quick as the one he had been making with his fingers. "Yes," he sighed, moving down to sink his teeth into Jim's throat, licking at the ring of indentations he left in the pale skin.

Jim moaned, his skin burning as his body fought to keep up with its sensory duties. He searched his mind for a quip, a comment, something... But he had nothing left to say. There was nothing waiting for him in the snide little recesses of his mind, and it felt amazing. Before he could stop himself, avoid the humiliation of _needing_ something, he spoke the only word that he could conjure up. "More."

If there was any higher function left in Sebastian's brain, it had fled the moment Jim uttered that word. He had wanted to hold out, wanted to make Jim _beg_ and still leave him without, but Seb had been reduced to his base instincts. Goddamn James and his ability to smash through all of Sebastian's carefully laid plans. He moaned again, biting a bit lower and tasting blood, slamming harder into him, and faster, seeing red in front of his eyes.

It was enough. Jim screamed along with his body, his eyes screwed shut while his muscles began clenching and unclenching as he came. The scream felt endless, like it was ripping from his lungs just as the rest of him lost control, his fingers clutching Seb's shoulder blades, leaving half-moon shaped cuts.

It was only a few more thrusts before Sebastian followed him over the edge, fingers digging into Jim's hips hard enough to leave dark bruises as he came. His cry was muffled against Jim's chest, lips pressed against the smear of blood there. He pulled out of the smaller man and collapsed next to him, panting for air.

Jim reached his hand to Seb's side, feeling his heartbeat thrum at a speed very close to his own. He wiped his mouth with his other hand, smearing more blood across his face and into the grooves of his fingerprints. "There's a tiger." He sighed

Sebastian lay still for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm his jangled nerves. Then, with a grunt and barely a look at Jim, he rolled off of the couch, turning his back towards the criminal mastermind, and padded off towards the shower.

Jim's eyes flew open, watching as Seb vanished down the hall. He made to follow him, but realized only milliseconds too late that standing was not within his grasp. He fell back into the couch, his head spinning. It wasn't just physical exhaustion, though Jim was sure that wasn't helping, it was blood loss. He'd bled far more than necessary, the proof was all over the couch he'd only just bought and still running with slow determination down his chest. He pressed his hand to it to staunch the flow and lay back down. Seb would surely bring back some sort of bandage. He tried reaching for Sebastian's shirt and barely grasped it, running it quickly over his body and then laying it across himself. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting...

Sebastian turned on the water and stepped into the steaming stream, feeling the burning drops run over his body and wash away the blood and the sweat. For a moment it was easy enough to close his eyes and pretend that it was a year ago, and that Jim had never 'died', and that everything was normal. He sighed, washing himself off quickly and yanking himself back to the present once all the blood and other mess had been washed down the drain. He stepped out of the shower after shutting it off and wrapped a towel around his waist, grabbing the first aid kit as he walked out of the bathroom, tossing it onto Jim's chest as he passed into the bedroom.

"It's about time, I'm half-dead out here." Jim called after him. _What the fuck is his problem?_ Jim thought, trying to open the box one handed, _I'm the one who got sliced up_. His fingers shook violently, preventing him from opening the latch and he rested his head back against the arm of the couch with a loud, theatrical sigh. He was being dramatic, but that wasn't unusual, and he actually _was_ having trouble handling the box.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you're useless," Seb muttered, walking over to the couch and yanking the box open, dropping it on his chest again before heading back to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. While normally he would have stopped and helped Jim bandage up, he didn't trust himself not to wring that pretty neck.

"I'm _dying_, lend us a hand." He looked over to the rather infuriatingly distant Sebastian. He felt something tug at the underneath of his lungs, a fear he couldn't put into words, but it grew the longer Seb avoided him.

There was no answer from the kitchen, no sounds but the steady drip of the coffeemaker and the opening and closing of cupboards as Sebastian searched for a mug. He knew well enough that Jim was not _actually_ dying. Anything less than immediate risk of death, though, he was resolved to let Jim handle on his own. He stared down at his shaking hands, taking a deep breath. God, he needed a fix.

"Top right." Jim called, expecting a response. He pulled his hand from his chest, feeling a tiny rip as he tore away the partially hardened blood. It started to gush again, this time his body having nothing to do other than pump the rest of his blood out of the initials carved into his skin.

No response. Sebastian couldn't allow himself to speak, or everything he truly wanted to say would come pouring out in a clumsy jumble. He grunted instead, not really quite audible enough to be heard from the kitchen, and grabbed the mug from the top right cupboard, pouring himself a cup of coffee and retreating into the bedroom, slamming the door. There. Let Jim take care of his own wounds, just like Seb had been forced to do for the past year. See how _he_ liked it.

"Yes, well, you're quite welcome for the coffee. You'll get the next one, yes?" Jim sat up, ignoring the swirling blackness at the corners of his vision. He fumbled, _fumbled_ with a few bandages before settling on the roll of medical tape and a thick square of gauze. The gauze stuck easily to the cuts and he pulled a few strips of tape off to secure it. Within seconds it was soaked, but it seemed to be keeping at least _some_ blood from escaping. A small grimace reminded him of his cheek and he moved his jaw a bit, feeling the bones scrape like tectonic plates making earthquakes throughout the muscles of his face. It didn't distract him enough from the silence.

Every single pump of Sebastian's heart brought the same refrain: help Jim, help Jim, help Jim. It was as much a part of him as his name or his hair colour, something he was entirely sure he had been born with deep down in his DNA. He wanted to get up off the bed and go do what he was born to do, and it took an almost Olympic effort to resist, burying his face in the pillow and drowning out Jim's voice and his presence. It was easy enough, considering. He had long learned to live without Jim's aura surrounding him, even when he followed in the 'dead man's' footsteps, and his drug craving allowed his mind to wander.

Jim couldn't handle the silence. He tried standing once, twice, finally managing it. He slipped his trousers on, noticing as he leaned that the bandage was leaking. Nonetheless he sauntered (as best he could with the constant feeling of being spun on a primary school swing) over to the bedroom and leaned against the door. "Tired already, Sebby? I thought we'd do some arts and crafts or the like." He would get a rise out of this man. He would. Despite whatever black monster was trying to invade his eye sockets.

Sebastian squeezed his eyes closed, fighting against every instinct to engage with Jim, to make sure he was okay, to drink in his very presence. He shoved his head deeper into the pillow, taking long breaths to steady himself, and did his very best to pretend that Jim wasn't there at all.

Jim watched, his head cocked to the side. "What _are_ you doing?" He asked, he felt himself falling and slid down the door jam. "Are you... Are you crying, Sebastian? Those are silk pillowcases." He meant to have a devil-may-care tone, but if just came out sounding weary. He put his hand back over the bandage and pushed.

Sebastian picked his head up from the pillow, glancing over his shoulder at Jim. He got up out of bed, leaving his towel behind, tangled in the sheets, and stalked over to the doorway. He lifted Jim by the arms, pulling him towards the bed and shoved him down onto the mattress, before walking back over to his own side and flopping down, his back to the other man. All without a single word.

"I'll assume that's a..." He closed his eyes, pressing harder. How much _had_ he lost? Nothing deadly... He'd just... No. Now was not the time to pass out. He re-opened his eyes and blinked repeatedly. "Oh, no, now there's blood on my sheets..."

Again, he gave no response, though it was taking more effort than he thought it would to not snap at the little criminal. He gritted his teeth, keeping his back to him, and closed his eyes again, trying to fall asleep. It shouldn't be _that_ hard. After such a whirlwind of a day, Sebastian was exhausted, and he had learned to fall asleep in the middle of war zones. It should have been easy enough to do it while only next to Jim.

Jim, in a flash of irritation, whipped his elbow back, hitting Seb in the ribs. "Oops. Stretching."

Sebastian grunted in surprise, but kept his mouth shut and his eyes closed, no matter how much he wanted to roll over and throttle the man.

"Now this is clever. This is something, Moran." Jim was fighting to stay awake, his head swimming. "You're going to play the silent game with me? How adorable." He rolled over, his mouth right next to Sebastian's ear. "Supposing I just open up a carotid with that pocket knife of yours and win?"

The sick part, the _worst_ part of it was that Sebastian would still die for Jim, or by his hand, as happily as he would have a year ago. Hell, the image even brought a twisted trill of excitement running up and down Sebastian's spine, though he made no outward sign of it. But speaking or otherwise acknowledging Jim's presence and his words would be giving in, would be letting Jim think that what he did was somehow _okay_ and like hell it was. And so, yet more nothing from Seb.

Jim didn't have much fight in him, but he wouldn't lay here unable to see Seb's face while he was being entirely silent. He stood, wavering slightly, before walking around the bed and sitting against the wall to face Sebastian. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he retrieved it.

_How did it go? – IA_

Jim looked back up at Sebastian, who was now staring straight at him with an expression he wasn't sure was quite murderous, but it was close. He looked back down at his mobile and re-read the text from Irene until his eyes slid shut and his head fell back against the wall.


End file.
